


Blue Lights, Red Flags

by thanatopis



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: First Meetings, M/M, Past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 10:57:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/978010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thanatopis/pseuds/thanatopis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frazzled beyond his end wits, Reisi decides to take a walk. He's a mere fifteen and already showing traits of the great man he will become when he meets <em>him</em>. </p><p>The sky, Reisi remembers, was the color of his hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Lights, Red Flags

**Author's Note:**

> My first K Project fic (I'm a little more than late, yes sorry..) This story I've had saved in my documents folder for a while now, I don't know what I was waiting for but I wanted to post this. This story is just speculation at how Reisi and Mikoto could have met before they where kings--I like to think they passed by each other at least once, not knowing what a great role the other would play in their respective lives.
> 
> This fic isn't out rightly MikoRei. You can look at it from a platonic view point (with flirty undertones, like the anime) or as something more. I hope you enjoy!

The sky burns a fiery red-orange the first time Reisi Munakata meets Mikoto Suoh—foreshadowing at its finest, Reisi believes whenever he reminisces on the past.

It’s not under the pretense of rival or opposing clans—the inevitable clash between red and blue—just two young men seeking escape for a time from the complexities they face in their lives—for one reason or another.

Reisi Munakata is a mere fifteen years old and he is fraying ever so steadily and silently at the seams. Not that anyone would ever notice— _no_ —he’s too clever to ever show such disheartening weakness and no one ever seems to take a second, inquiring look at the puzzle he so seems to represent day by day.

His father would surely scold and mock him for the overwhelming pressure he feels to succeed—to prove himself worthy of his father’s praise.

Over the years, Reisi had accomplished a many great deal of things for a boy his age.

His final year of secondary school had consisted of him studying for the school entrance exams of his father’s choice. The more prestigious the better—not that Reisi really cared—the farther away the school was from his bedroom back home was well worth the long nights of being yelled at by his roommate to turn his damn desk light off as he crammed into the hours of early morning.

The idea was to leave secondary school and enter high school as a third year—graduating at an astounding sixteen, leaving time and dedication for university and schooling abroad. It might have been an over zealous goal, but Reisi had a firm belief and determination that he could do it—and he did with straight A’s and perfect test scores across the board.

Reisi had been over the moon when he realized he accomplished his goal—any previous thoughts that he had about giving up became absurd in his mind. Reisi masked his joy behind cool confidence and a slight turn of his mouth, his peers had surrounded him and gave him his much do appraise, congratulating him with wide smiles and pats on the back, uttering bittersweet goodbyes as they, after summer break, would move on towards all kinds of different high schools in Shizume City, most likely never seeing one another again. 

Reisi hadn’t been saddened by the possibility. He had never been quite to fond school—not because he didn’t have any friends—he did. Reisi was a fairly popular guy amongst his peers, respected and admired for the passion and seriousness of which he took his studies and—on a more superficial term—his looks.

The problem that became of his popularity was that _too_ many people wanted to be his friend—wanted to know more about him and it was problematic for an introverted man such as himself, who wasn’t interested in making friends as he was his future.

It’s only later in life that Reisi learns to regret this decision.

With a heavy sigh, Reisi reaches into his slacks pocket, wrapping his fingers around a rectangular paper carton that perfumes his pocket with the smell of tobacco and ash.

Reisi looks at the cigarette box with obvious loathing and reproach before he flips the lid and places the cancer stick in the corner of his mouth.

He knows the dangers of smoking, knows the chemicals such as methane, ammonia, and carbon monoxide fester in your lungs and turn them gritty and the darkest of blacks, and yet—on occasions such as these—he feels like breathing toxic air.

Reaching into the hidden pocket of his jacket, Reisi fingers search for his lighter with no such luck. “Damn,” He mutters with the stick still between his lips. He had been in such a hurry to get out—to go that he must have overlooked and forgotten the thing. 

Reisi leans heavily on the rail that keeps him from plummeting to the ground below, letting out a ragged, frustrated breath as he quietly watches the sky turn a deeper shade of crimson minute by minute.

He doesn’t know how long he stares, watching the sun slowly ebb from the horizon line, allowing his mind to just wonder off, but its broken when a lighter—out of nowhere—ignites the end of his cigarette until the tip turns its telling bright orange.

It takes everything in Reisi not drop the darn thing as he, with wide eyes regards a boy who appears to be the same age as him, noticing the crumpled and wrinkled state that his school uniform is in.

Reisi recognizes the colors to be that of Ishikawa Academy—an inner city school more known for its delinquents than academics.   

Moreover, that’s not what really catches his attention; the boy has a head of hair that rivals that of freshly drawn blood, it’s disorderly, hanging in front of his eyes which—Reisi notices with bewilderment—are bright amber.

Reisi vaguely pictures a lion’s head slowly peeking up from the brush of the savannah, revealing the same set.

They look at him with a sort of tired detachment that feels like they only take in half of what they actually see. Reisi stares right back.

“Thank you.” Reisi says dumbly after a breath, mouth open slightly agape, still somewhat shocked before he takes a long drag that burns his insides.

 “Hmn.” The boy mumbles in reply, pocketing the silver lighter in his pants and turning so that his back his leaning against the railing, ignoring the sun set all together.

Reisi, after a moment of holding the smoke in his lungs, cranes his neck and blows the toxic air out above his head, watching it ripple and weave and eventually disperse.

Reisi gazes at the red-head through the corner of his eye, wanting to make sure that his observing isn’t too obvious.

The boy is a delinquent—there is no doubt, Reisi concludes. For some reason he is not alarmed or scared by this fact, he has nothing of importance that the boy can beat him up over and steal, but even that—Reisi doesn’t feel threatened in the slightest. Maybe it’s foolish of him not too. 

Reaching back into his pocket, Reisi takes out the carton and flips the lid, offering a cigarette to the red-haired boy in a gesture of courtesy.

“Would you like one?” He asks, his voice disguised slightly by the cigarette in his mouth and the rough, dry way his windpipe open and closes for the breath of his words.

On a couple seconds delay, the boy slowly turns his head, as if Reisi’s voice traveled through a long, narrow tunnel and regards him with a stare that makes Reisi re-think his past discrepancies.

Two lines, both right under each amber eye makes the boy appear rugged and hard, makes him look older than a high school student, and Reisi wonders what kind of experiences made those lines form.

“The lighter isn’t mine. I’m holding it for a friend.” Is all he says and Reisi revels at the baritone sound that rumbles in his ears even after the sound is gone.  

Reisi nods in understanding as he blows out another cloud of smoke into the air.

In some sentimental way he feels obligated to stay until the cigarette is finished and he does, despite his want to be alone.

Dropping the cigarette butt on the ground, Reisi coolly stomps on the ember, watching it crumble under his all-to-expensive shoes.

“Thank you again.” Is all Reisi says, as he starts walking in the direction in which he came, giving a flippant wave in the boy’s general direction, and Reisi is somewhat saddened when the boy doesn’t say anything back.

He walks home thinking about the boy—thinking about his messy red hair and his chaotic amber eyes, and immediately recognizes that he doesn’t like them.

“You’re just a walking, living, breathing disorganized mess aren’t you?”  

It’s years later when Reisi meets the boy again. This time it’s Mikoto (whose name he’s learned purely through infamy) who now holds a cigarette between his lips.

The Reds, he surmises, are a nasty looking bunch as they all round their feral gazes onto him, as if ready to pounce the moment he makes one wrong move towards their king. Savages, he thinks, brushing it off with an amused snort, none of them are a match for him. 

Steadily advancing with sure steps to were their king stands confident and proud, recognition is instantaneous as their eyes lock and Reisi is suddenly immensely pleased at how Mikoto’s normally aloof eyes widen slightly as he _finally_ gets it.

Reisi feels the corner of his mouth lightly twitch.

Mikoto chuckles in the next second, deep and throaty. The sound immediately takes Reisi back to that time, reminding him of crisp fall weather and crimson sunsets and Mikoto takes his time reaching into his back pocket, the chain on his hip clinging with the various bracelets on his wrist.

His eyes are amused when they round back on him, a pack of _Blue Sparks_ are pushed in his direction and Mikoto flips the lid leisurely with his thumb, obviously offering—beckoning.

The murmur of confused chatter fades in the background as Reisi finally allows himself to laugh—highly pleased.

_So you remembered, huh?_


End file.
